


catching feelings

by smartlove



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Culinary Arts Student! Mark, Domestic Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Mark Lee, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Roommates, Tenderness, Trans Female Character, Trans Hendery, Trans Male Character, Trans Wong Yukhei, Writer! Hendery, hencas bffs, it's marijuana which should b legal anyway, set in New Zealand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27721901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smartlove/pseuds/smartlove
Summary: “I guess I’m just destined to be alone forever,” Hendery says, he means it as a joke, but the corners of Mark’s lips pull downwards.“You won’t be alone forever,” Mark says, “You’ll always have me,”Hendery smiles, and his stupid hopeless crush smiles back, “Yeah, I guess I will,”Hendery wants a love that falls as fast as a body from a balcony, and Mark happens to be just that.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Wong Kun Hang | Hendery
Comments: 22
Kudos: 88





	catching feelings

**Author's Note:**

> HELLOOOO i hope u all enjoy this fic, i had a lot of fun writing it <333
> 
> here is a [playlist!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3C7tZBMBbZd745UvLJncra?si=G94XFFrSTYm8SoboDu_HQQ)
> 
> the title is from the song catching feelings by drax project pls support my boys they need to pay rent
> 
> ENJOY!! MWAH

Hendery knows something is wrong as soon as Mark enters the darkened pub.

He’s up on stage, reciting his slam poem for the pub’s weekly open night. This poem is one he’s been working on for a few weeks, laced with the kind of vulnerability he only feels comfortable showing to the unknown faces of a crowd— and to Mark Lee.  
There’s no spotlight on stage, only the dull shine of the light bulb above him, but Hendery still feels hot under it. His nerves go crazy as he delivers his work with trembling hands. Every single soul is quiet, like they’re holding their breaths throughout his performance. It’s daunting, it’s exhilarating, and usually, Hendery would be enjoying every minute of it. 

Only he isn't, because Mark isn’t here yet. He never misses an open mic night and Hendery can’t help but worry. 

Mark steps through the pub doors on the final verse. Their eyes meet immediately and Hendery stutters through the middle of his line. For a millisecond, it seems like he and Mark are the only two in the room. Everything turns to a blur but he can see Mark clearly, down to the sharp lines of their face and the colour in their cheeks. 

He can tell that Mark is upset. Their mood darkens over the room like a stormcloud . 

Hendery is quick to collect himself, finishing his poem halfheartedly, eyes never leaving Mark. 

When he finishes, the audience all click their fingers because no one ever claps at these things. He shoves the crumpled piece of paper he was reading off into his pocket and steps off stage. 

Mark is sitting at a table hidden in the shadows. Hair glowing blue under the dim lighting, freshly dyed and vibrant. It’s seemingly soft to the touch but Hendery knows that if he ran his hands through, he’d feel nothing but the roughness of bleach damage. Their coat is draped over the back of their chair, revealing the sparkly sheer shirt they’re wearing, a black bralette visible underneath. Their expression is distant, like they’re miles away from Hendery rather than a few metres. 

Mark doesn’t look at Hendery when he approaches. Instead, they’re glaring at a dent in the wooden table, eyes rimmed with red. Hendery takes a seat. 

“Sorry I’m late,” they say quietly. Hendery barely hears it over the new performer. 

He shrugs, “It’s no big deal,” 

They finally look at Hendery, a frown etched into their expression like it’s there to stay. 

“It’s a big deal to me, you know I love seeing you perform,” 

Something dangerous and completely forbidden flutters inside Hendery. He suppresses it. 

Mark is upset, he should focus on that.

“Are you okay?” he asks, hand hovering awkwardly near Mark’s, which is gripped onto the edge of the table.  
Mark bites their lip, worrying it for a while before speaking. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” 

Here’s the thing about Mark: they didn’t like talking. They avoided uncomfortable questions like the plague and never talked about what was wrong. Hendery doesn’t understand it–– he wears his emotions on his sleeve, he writes them into poems and performs them to strangers. Whereas Mark hides their feelings behind walls made of gold, making Hendery jump through hoops to meet their melting point. 

He sighs and stands from his seat. 

“Yeah, I’m done for the night.” he says, holding his hand out for Mark to take, “Let’s go home,” 

The foggy night sky welcomes them as they exit the pub, covering everything beyond them like they’re inside a cloud. Mark shivers against the winter air and leans in closer to Hendery. He briefly wonders if they’ve stumbled into a dreamscape. Mark is warm, Hendery leans into it, deciding not to pinch himself _just in case_. 

The street is fairly empty, it’s a Wednesday night so the only people out are university students trying to get free entry into clubs. They walk in silence to the bus stop, so close to each other that they could be mistaken for one person. Mark doesn’t let go of him until they reach the stop. The screen showing the bus schedule flickers with green, their bus is due in ten minutes. Mark looks past the screen, tilting their head upwards. 

“The Sky Tower is purple today,” they mumble. 

Hendery follows their gaze. Surely enough, the tip of the Sky Tower glows a hazy purple, barely visible over the fog. 

“I wonder what it’s for,” 

“Maybe the people at Skycity just like purple,” Hendery offers. 

Mark looks back at Hendery, a sheer coat of sparkle over their unusually sad eyes, “That’s my dream job,” he declares. 

“What is?” 

“Choosing the Sky Tower colours,” It shines a different colour every night, sometimes for holidays and important things like _pink for breast cancer awareness_ and _rainbow for pride!_ But most of the time it’s just random. Mark points out the colour every night they go out without fail, they seem to be enamoured with the skyscraper that Hendery has always thought of as boring. 

Hendery laughs, “Now you know what to do if cooking school doesn’t work out,” 

Mark laughs too, but it didn’t quite reach their eyes, nor does it ease the way their face is pinched up unpleasantly. They scoot closer to Hendery’s side, hooking their chin over his shoulder. 

“You know what I like about the Sky Tower?” they say, sounding contemplative. Their lips are so close to Hendery’s ear that he can feel every breath they make. Every word they say feels personal, like a secret— or a prayer.

“No matter where you are in Auckland, you can look up and it will always be there, like a beacon,” 

Hendery hums, “I’ve never really thought about that,” 

“I always look for it when I’m sad,” 

Hendery brings his hand up to run through Mark’s hair. It’s rough, just as he expected. 

“Are you sad right now?” 

Mark ignores the question. Getting Mark to talk about their feelings is like pulling teeth. 

“I know it’s just a stupid man-made building but its comforting,” their voice shifts to the dry, bitter kind of humour that makes Hendery wince, “If no one got me, at least the Sky Tower got me,” 

They giggle at their own joke, it would have pulled a smile out of Hendery too if he wasn’t so concerned. 

“Are you really not going to tell me what’s wrong?” he asks.

Mark sighs and pulls away from Hendery’s touch completely. He thinks maybe he fucked up, pushed too hard and Mark covered his wall with an extra layer of gold. 

Only, his worries are eased when Mark grabs his hand, fidgeting with Hendery’s fingers like it’s their own. 

“Jeno broke up with me,” they say quietly, barely audible over the cars driving by. 

Hendery hates–– absolutely and utterly despises–– how his first, instinctual, _primal_ reaction to Mark’s words is a hot flush of relief. It’s sick. He should feel sympathetic, saddened. Mark is his best friend. Mark and Jeno were in love. Mark was happy. And now they’ve broken up. 

“I’m so sorry Mark,” Hendery says, feeling nothing but shame, “What happened?”

Their eyes are trained on Hendery’s hands, pulling at the skin between his thumb and forefinger. They sniff and Hendery wonders if they’re crying. Mark never cries. 

“Things have been tense for a while now,” they say, “But they really escalated and I said some nasty things–– so did he but–– I––” they break off, taking in a shuddering breath, “He said he was tired of fighting and just ended it,” 

“Oh, Mark,” Hendery says sympathetically, like his brain finally realised that he needs to be a decent human being, “That sounds awful, I’m so sorry.” 

Mark finally looks up, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“I thought he was the one,” 

“I know,” Hendery says, his heart breaks for Mark. How could it not? Despite it all, he just wants Mark to be happy. He hates seeing them like this–– so broken, it was the same after every break up. After every “ _the one”_ Mark has been through. 

“I don’t know why I thought it would last,” Mark says, scoffing bitterly, “I’m as unlovable as they come,” 

“Don’t say that,” Hendery says firmly, he pulls his hand away from Mark’s grasp and brings it up to cup their jaw, thumb grazing over their cold skin, chilled from the winter air. When he speaks again, his words come out softer, “Why would you say that about yourself? Did Jeno say that to you?”

They shake their head, “No, no— but it’s true isn’t it. I’m incapable of having a lasting relationship, everyone leaves and it’s not even their fault because I’m hard to lo––”

“Hey,” Hendery interrupts before Mark can fall down a rabbit hole of insecurities. 

_How could you say that?_ Is what Hendery wants to say, to yell. _How could you think you’re unlovable? When I’ve loved you since the moment I met you._

Only right now, his mission is to stop Mark from wallowing in their own miserable bubble of self-loathing. Not confess his hopeless and undying love for his best friend. 

“You’re not unlovable, Mark,” Hendery says instead, “I’ve never met anyone more easy to love than you are. I’m sorry things didn’t work out with Jeno but that’s not the end for you.”

“Sure feels like it,” Mark mutters dejectedly, but their ears tinge pink at Hendery’s words so he takes that as a sliver of hope. “I’m tired of chasing after love, can’t it come to me for once?” 

_I’m right here._

“What can I do to make you feel better?” 

Mark looks past Hendery’s shoulder, the city lights reflect in their eyes–– blue and red. They have a habit of averting their eyes when they’re about to say something embarrassing–– or something vulnerable. Hendery has learnt to see it coming. 

“I could really use a hug,” Mark says, shuffling closer. 

Admittedly, Hendery is a little touch-starved, which is why he wraps his arm around Mark’s waist to pull them in. He thinks Mark is too, from the way their hand curls around his neck, playing at the hair at the back of his head. They tug and tug until Hendery is pressed right up against Mark. He hooks his head over Mark’s shoulder, running a hand up and down their back for comfort. Mark lets out a content sigh, easily melting into Hendery’s embrace. 

Hendery doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but he knows it feels nice. 

If Hendery were to retell the story of how he met Mark, he’d say it was magical. That meeting Mark on the first day of his first year of university felt fated. That he was enamoured with them from the moment their eyes met across their chemlab table. He’d even go as far as to say meeting Mark was what began one of the best years of his life. 

Only, none of that would be true. 

Hendery met Mark in biochem, a class he already decided he hated when he walked into class and the potent smell of chemicals brought tears to his eyes. He didn’t think anything when Mark was assigned as his lab partner, too busy being neck-deep in a classic _what-the-fuck-am-I-doing-with-my-life_ crisis. They barely even acknowledged each other in class, their exchanges were limited to work discussion and half hearted goodbye nods before leaving. The first real conversation Hendery had with Mark, occured during their last class of the year.

It was just before exam season began so everyone in the lab was tense with stress. Hendery was cleaning up his station after barely scraping by yet another practical assessment. Honestly speaking, first year was terrible–– probably one of the worst years of Hendery's life. He felt stuck doing a degree he despised in a city he was desperate to escape. He felt so out of depth with the people in his class, he hadn’t managed to make any new friends all year and it seemed like everyone was constantly doing better than him. 

It was awful. University was awful.

In the midst of his mini internal freak out while wiping down his table, he heard a distressed groan from beside him.

Right, Mark Lee. His lab partner who was either really shy or just hated him. They were still there. He found solace in the fact that Mark looked just as miserable in this class as he felt. They were crouching over their lab report, scribbling down words and looking seconds away from bursting a blood vessel. 

Mark must have felt Hendery’s gaze on them because they look up. 

Hendery cracked a smile in greeting, it probably came off as awkward.

“Do you want to know a secret?” Mark said in lieu of a real greeting, like they were old friends. They didn’t wait for Hendery to answer before spilling, “I fucking hate this degree,” 

It startled a laugh out of him.

“I hate it too,” Hendery said, and he couldn't believe he was admitting this to a stranger, “I feel like every class takes ten years off my lifespan,” 

Mark laughed too, they scoot their chair closer to Hendery. 

“That doesn’t seem fair, you should consider suing the university,”

Hendery sighed, looking down at his own lab report, “Or I could just drop out,” 

Mark snorted, “Yeah, right. If only it was that easy,” 

“Technically it is,” Hendery said, “ _Technically,_ I could drop out right now and apply for something I actually want to do–– like creative writing, or english.” 

Creative writing, didn’t that sound like a dream?

“What’s stopping you?” Mark asked. 

Pressure, parents, the overwhelming fear of taking a creative writing course only to be told that he’s terrible at the one thing he’s most passionate about. 

He only shrugged, “Probably the same thing that’s stopping you,”

Mark frowned, eyebrows pulled down and Hendery couldn’t tell if he offended them or if they were just thinking really hard. 

“Cooking school,” they finally said, “That’s what I would do if I dropped out,” 

Hendery hummed, “That sounds infinitely better than this,” 

“It does, doesn’t it?” Mark replied, sounding faraway, like they were contemplating the idea. Hendery thought he might have awakened something dangerous, that Mark would do something drastic like set the lab on fire in protest–– or skip the exams. Both would be equally as bad. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” Hendery offered, taking the leap he didn’t realise he wanted to take until he said it, “We can grab coffee or something and contemplate whether or not we wasted an entire year of our lives,” 

Mark laughed like Hendery said the most hilarious thing they’ve ever heard. After they calmed down, they flashed Hendery a bright smile. 

“Sure, let’s get coffee,” 

That was four years ago.

Now, Hendery is finishing his masters in creative writing and Mark is in their final year of cooking school. Now, they’re best friends and living together in an apartment with a great view of the Sky Tower. Now, they barely go a day without seeing each other. Although, Hendery’s first impression of Mark was more being weirded out and caught off guard, then love at first sight. He’s still a writer, and true to his nature, he tends to romanticize everything. So, if he were to retell their first meeting, he’d still insist he was enamoured with Mark from the beginning. And that it was, indeed, one of the best years of his life, because even though it was terrible— it led up to him meeting Mark. 

When Hendery walks through the front door of the apartment and he’s immediately hit with the smell of something sweet wafting in from the kitchen. He ventures to the kitchen where surely enough, he sees Mark taking a tray out of the oven. a yellow minion covered apron is thrown over their clothes. It’s one Hendery gifted them, Mark is an avid collector of weird aprons. 

Hendery observes the tray of chocolate chip cookies that Mark places on the counter, his gaze travels to the plate of cupcakes _and_ what looks like a meringue mix in a bowl, waiting to be finished. He lifts an eyebrow at Mark. 

“Stress baking?” 

Mark sighs, they pick up one of the cupcakes and takes a bite. 

“Jeno came over,” they say through a mouthful.

Hendery winces, taking a seat at the counter and grabbing a cupcake of this own. He hates to see Mark stressed but _loves_ their red velvet cupcakes. It’s a moral dilemma he constantly battles with. 

“Why?” 

“To drop off my stuff,” Mark says miserably, they point to a cardboard box on the floor. It’s filled with clothes, Cds and a bunch of cooking equipment–– a rolling pin, pans and even a few knives. Did Mark really take kitchen equipment with them to Jeno’s place?

“It was bad enough that he dumped me but then he had to go and be a good person and return all my shit–– now I feel guilty for cutting up the shirt he left here,”

“You cut up his shirt?”

“I was trying to make a beret!” they defend, arms flailing, “I was following a Tiktok tutorial and I wasn’t about to cut one of _my_ shirts,” 

Hendery sighs, “I can just buy you a beret, why go through the trouble of making one?” 

“It’s the principle of making it,” Mark insists, picking up a cookie and waving it around as they talk, “You go through the process of making something yourself for the sense of fulfilment you feel when you get to use it!”

Hendery cracks a smirk, “Where is this fulfilling beret then? I haven’t seen you wear it.”

Mark glares, “It’s a work in progress,” 

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I cut the fabric and got distracted so now it’s abandoned forever,” 

Hendery snorts, “Typical,” 

Mark opens their mouth to argue further and then falters with a pout, “This isn’t even the point! We were talking about Jeno and how sad I am, be nicer to me,” 

Hendery matches their pout, “I _am_ being nice. You stopped thinking about Jeno to argue with me, right? Boom: distraction.”

Mark rolls their eyes, a fond smile forming across their face, “You’re so lame.” they pick a chocolate chip off their cookie, letting out a long sigh, “Your distraction was short-lived, I’m thinking about him again,” 

Hendery frowns, that won’t do. He moves around the counter to get closer to Mark. They’re picking at the cookie nervously, crumbs fall onto the floor. He takes it from Mark, replacing it with his own hand. 

“Did he say anything to you?”

“No,” Mark replies sadly, “He barely said a word to me, it felt so–– final. Like we’re really over,” 

“That sucks,” Hendery says, “I’m sorry, Mark.”

They shrug, “I needed to start getting over him anyway, maybe this is the first step,” 

“I’m here for you,” Hendery says, “Anything you need and I mean _anything._ If you want to slash his tires or frame him for tax fraud, I’ll help you do it,” 

This makes Mark smile, and Hendery feels like the universe is at balance again. Mark Lee should never be frowning. It sets everything off-kilter. 

“Your attempts of cheering me up are so strange,” Mark says, linking their hands together, “But for some reason it works, so I won’t complain. Thank you, Hendery,” 

It’s the way they say Hendery’s name. So soft, so full of love. They say it like it’s the lyrics to their favourite song or the words of a poem. 

He grins. 

“Anytime, Markie,” 

Hendery has been writing for as long as he can remember. For him, words come as easily as breathing. He remembers being ten years old, creating worlds on paper, writing stories and drawing maps for them. He remembers being in middle school and crushing on a boy for the first time. He can’t recall the boy’s name but he recalls the way he wrote stories about him, writing down the words he was too afraid to speak. He remembers high school; scribbling words in the back of his chemistry textbooks, failing to pay attention in history class because he’s daydreaming about a new story, eager to get it down on paper. Writing is all that Hendery has ever known. 

And now –– _now._

Hendery writes about places he’s never been. He writes about cities with buildings that touch the sky, midnight drives down the country-side roads where the stars are at its brightest, and the current object of his affection. A certain Mark Lee whose eyes glow brighter than the country-side stars, who always seems to have flour dusting their cheeks. Who is as loyal to this city as Hendery isn’t. Who is never tied down to one person for too long–– whose only true love seems to be the shitty oven in their apartment and their collection of aprons. 

Mostly, Hendery writes about Mark. 

_“Whatcha doing?”_ Mark sing-songs, dropping down on the couch next to Hendery.

“Writing,” Hendery replies, only half paying attention to them, “This piece is due tomorrow morning,” 

Mark whistles lowly, “Cutting it close,” 

“When do I not?” 

Mark leans their head on Hendery’s shoulder, reading the words off his screen as he types. This usually bothers Hendery, he hates the watchful gaze of another person as he tries— _and fails—_ to get words down. But Mark never relents, so Hendery forces himself to get used to it. 

“New York City,” Mark reads off his screen, “You’ve never been there,” 

“I can still write about it,” Hendery says, pointing to all the tabs he has open about different places in New York. 

“How come you never write about Auckland?” 

Hendery scoffs, “What’s there to write about?”

Mark gasps as if Hendery personally offended them. They detach themselves from Hendery’s side like he burnt them and fixes him with a stern look. 

“There’s so much to write about!” they insist, “We literally live on a volcanic field! If you drive half an hour in any direction, you’ll hit something great–– a forest, a waterfall, _the beach._ And don’t even get me started on––”

“If you say the Sky Tower, I’m going to hit you,” 

Mark huffs, crossing their arms. 

“You romanticise every city in the world except for the one you live in,” they scold, like a mother telling a kid off for writing on the walls. 

“Because I’m so sick of this place,” Hendery says, “Don’t you ever think of leaving and seeing the world?” 

“What else is there to see?” Mark replies, “Auckland is it for me,” 

_“Really?”_ Hendery says in slight disbelief, “There’s so much more out there and you’re content with this dead-end city?” 

“We see things differently,” Mark says, “You see this city as dead-end but I see it as comfortable. It may not be New York, but it’s enough. I’m happy here.” 

Their gaze travels from Hendery to behind him. Hendery doesn’t have to look to see what Mark is staring at. The window in their living room has an excellent view of the Sky Tower.

“Besides, I could never leave the Sky Tower,” Mark says light-heartedly, “It’s my baby,” 

Hendery snorts, “I admire your ability to find beauty in the dullest things,” he says, “This city, the Sky Tower, _me,”_

Mark’s jaw drops, like Hendery said the worst possible thing anyone could ever say–– because they are just that dramatic. 

“Hendery you are not dull,” they insist, “Take that back right now or I’ll be upset,” 

“You can’t guilt trip me into loving myself,” Hendery says, finding himself giggling as Mark’s pout deepens.

“I can very much try!” Mark proclaims, pushing the computer off Hendery’s lap and getting up on their knees, “You’re not the only poet here, you know. I can be poetic if I tried,” they throw one leg over Hendery’s legs and move until they are settled into his lap. 

_This is fine_ , Hendery tells himself. Mark is in his lap and everything is _fine._ Because this is just how Mark is, they’re touchy, it’s just how they show affection. That’s all this is, Mark showing him some good ol’ platonic affection. 

“You’re far from dull, Hendery,” Mark says softly. They run their hand through Hendery’s hair, fingers stroking his scalp. And it feels good, _so good._ Hendery leans into it. Mark’s gaze is intense as he continues, 

“You’re so beautiful, inside and out. Like straight up gorgeous. You brighten every room you’re in, I cherish every conversation we have. You’re my rock, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Okay Mark,” Hendery says nervously, “I wasn’t saying that to like–– fish for compliments or anything,” 

Mark frowns, their hand unrelenting from where it’s buried in Hendery’s hair, “I know that, I just wanted to say it. You're so important to me.”

Hendery’s hands hold Mark’s waist, he doesn’t know what else to do with them. Mark’s skin is warm under his finger tips, they move closer. It would be so easy for him to lean up and kiss them. To close the space between them, to show Mark just how important they are to him too. He shakes the thought away. 

“You’re important to me too,” he breathes out. Sometimes he thinks it’s all he knows. The familiarity of their breathing, the way Mark’s fingers leave indentations on his skin, how he can’t scrub the smell of them off him no matter how hard he tries. 

“I know, silly,” is all Mark replies with. And just like that, they move off Hendery’s lap. Like it’s nothing–– no big deal. The subject is dropped. 

Hendery picks his laptop back up with shaky hands, Mark leans back into his shoulder and watches him write. Everything is _fine_. 

  
  


“Mark that smells amazing, what are you making?” Yukhei’s voice rings loudly through the apartment, making Hendery jump. He turns around to scowl at her. 

“I regret giving you the spare key,” he says. 

Yukhei only grins from where she’s standing at the front door, spinning her keys around her fingers. 

Mark laughs, completely unphased by Yukhei barging in. 

“Xuxi darling!” they call from the kitchen, “Come in, I’m making chocolate eclairs,” 

“I love coming here,” Yukhei declares, toeing her shoes off and walking over to the living room. 

As per usual, she’s dressed to impress. Hendery marvels at Yukhei’s ability to look unfairly perfect wherever she goes–– not a single hair out of place or wrinkle in her clothes. Today, she’s sporting a silky white button up paired with a black denim skirt. Hendery looks down at his worn out sweatpants pitifully, feeling underdressed in his own home. 

“Hey sunshine,” Yukhei says playfully, sitting next to Hendery on the couch and ruffling his hair, “What’s up?” 

Hendery pauses the TV show he was half paying attention to and sighs dramatically. 

“Absolutely nothing is up my dear Yukhei,” he says, “My life is as uneventful and boring as usual,” 

“He’s lying,” Mark informs Yukhei, Hendery can’t see them but their voice rings out loud and clear through the sounds of plates clattering in the kitchen, “He found out that he got an A- on his writing piece,” 

“Hendery!” Yukhei cheers delightfully, throwing her arms up, “That’s so good! I’m proud of you,” 

Hendery scowls, crossing his arms and shuffling deeper into the couch cushions, maybe he can bury himself into them if he tries hard enough. 

“That minus sign is my enemy, why didn’t my professor just commit to the A? Coward.” he grumbles. 

“Hey,” Yukhei says, flicking Hendery’s forehead with her fingers. Hendery yelps, sitting up to glare at her, “Stop being so hard on yourself, that’s a good ass grade,” 

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him!” Mark says. 

Hendery rolls his eyes, ignoring them both to continue complaining, “My problem is in my proof-reading, I always half-ass it and it lowers my grade,” 

“You know what you did wrong and you can improve on it for next time,” Yukhei says, more gently this time. Hendery assumes she feels guilty for flicking his forehead. Good, that really hurt. “Let yourself enjoy this, be proud of yourself,” 

Hendery sighs, “I suppose,” 

Yukhei cheers once more, “Reluctant acceptance! I’ll take it!” She leans over and engulfs Hendery with a hug–– one he didn’t know he needed until her arms are completely wrapped around him. He fondly runs a hand through her long hair, missing the warmth immediately when she pulls away. 

“I can’t believe you got through to him when I couldn’t,” Mark comments. They move to sit on the arm of the couch, watching the pair with a smile. 

“I’m well-versed in all things Hendery,” Yukhei says proudly, “It comes with being his best friend,” 

Mark huffs, “Excuse you, _I’m_ his best friend,” 

Hendery giggles, the prospect of the two of them fighting over him makes him feel strangely giddy. It’s a quiet, warm reminder that he’s loved, settling comfortably into his chest. 

“I’ve known him longer,” Yukhei shoots back, sticking her tongue out. 

“I _live_ with him,” 

“Sorry I chose to live with my girlfriend instead of you miserable single idiots,” Yukhei says, smirking as Mark fails to offer a counter argument. Alas, the one in a long, happy relationship wins this round. 

“Wow, it only took you about five minutes to mention Yangyang,” Hendery says, “That’s a record, I’m impressed,” 

Yukhei gives an exaggerated bow, sending them all into a fit of laughter. 

“On that note, I should get going,” Mark says, untying their white apron that reads _‘I’M ABOUT TO SLAP MY MEAT ON THE GRILL’_ across the front. “I left the eclairs in the fridge, help yourself.”

They stand from the couch, running a hand through their hair. Hendery watches in half-awe and half-disgust as flour falls from their blue locks. 

“Where are you going?” Hendery asks, Mark didn’t mention having any plans. 

They smile sheepishly, “I have a date,” 

“Already?” Yukhei asks, voicing what Hendery was thinking, “Didn’t you _just_ get out of a relationship?” 

Mark shrugs, “It’s just coffee, there’s no commitment in having another guy pay for your expensive iced latte,” 

Yukhei casts a wary glance towards Hendery, “I guess that’s true,” 

“Have fun on your date,” Hendery says, forcing a smile, “Text me if you’re getting home late,” 

“Will do,” Mark says, heading back into their room, likely to grab their things and freshen up. 

It isn’t until they hear the resounding slam of the front door as Mark leaves when Yukhei turns to Hendery with a frown. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” 

Yukhei lifts an eyebrow, “You can at least _try_ to be convincing,” 

“I _am_ fine,” Hendery says, lying straight through his teeth. It doesn’t even matter, because Yukhei wasn’t lying when she said she was well-versed in all things Hendery. 

“I’m used to it,” he mutters, “Mark is never single for long, I’ve just learned to live with it,”

Yukhei frowns, “This wouldn’t be an issue if you just confessed to them,” 

Hendery scoffs. _Confess to Mark._ That’s the worst idea Yukhei has ever had, and once she convinced Hendery to help her deface the James Cook statue outside her campus (they got as far as spray painting a penis on his head before they were dragged away by the campus security).

“Worst case scenario,” Hendery says, “I confess, they laugh in my face, I cry and our friendship is ruined forever,” 

“Mark is not going to _laugh_ at you,” 

“You don’t know that.” Hendery mumbles miserably. He curls up into himself, bringing his knees to his chest and hooking his chin over them. 

“Best case scenario,” Yukhei says, scooting closer to Hendery, “Mark feels the same way and you end up together forever,” 

“Don’t humour me,” Hendery replies bitterly. 

“Why is it so hard to believe that Mark might like you back?” 

Hendery looks at Yukhei with an exasperated look. 

“They are literally on a date right now,” 

Yukhei shrugs, “They said it’s just coffee,” 

“Jeno was _just coffee,_ ”

Yukhei wraps an arm around Hendery, pulling him in like he weighs nothing–– Hendery feels like he weighs nothing. He’s a fallen feather, far from his bird, going wherever the wind–– or Yukhei takes him. 

He leans against her shoulder, she’s warm and smells like vanilla. He feels like they’re fifteen years old again, confused about everything–– angry all the time, seeking comfort within each other when the dark storm cloud of teenage angst threatens to drench them. Yukhei still feels the same, still smells the same. The sound of her breathing calms him in a way that nothing else can. 

“Even if Mark doesn’t feel the same way,” Yukhei quietly starts, Hendery can feel the words more than he can hear them, “Telling them will give you a piece of mind, it’ll help you move on,” 

“You’re right,” Hendery says, as much as he hates to admit it, “You’re always right about these things, it’s annoying,” 

He can feel Yukhei shake under him as she laughs, “I’m more than just a pretty face,”

“I’m just scared,” Hendery admits, “Logically, I know this won’t ruin our friendship but it’s still terrifying,”

“Emotional vulnerability _is_ terrifying babe, but it’s something everyone has to do at some point in their lives, otherwise we would all be emotionless robots,” 

“That sounds ideal,” Hendery mutters. 

Yukhei chuckles, “Of course _you_ think that,” 

She drops a kiss to his hair, he can feel her smile into it. Hendery’s heart swells up with gratitude for the girl, he suddenly feels like crying–– Xuxi is _so good._

“I love you,” Hendery tells her, “I know I don’t say that enough,” 

“I love you too,” Yukhei replies, “Take your time with Mark, in the meantime, I’m here for you,” 

Hendery sighs, snuggling in closer to Yukhei’s side. Right now, this feels like enough. 

When Hendery comes home from work, the apartment is quiet, there’s no clattering in the kitchen nor is there the familiar smell of something sweet in the air. 

“Mark,” Hendery calls out, dropping his keys on the counter, “I’m home,” 

“I’m in your room,” he hears Mark say, voice muffled. 

Hendery makes his way to his room, the door slightly jar. He pushes it open. 

“Hey, what are you doing in he—” he cuts himself off when he gets a look at Mark. They’re staring into the mirror, sweatpants loose on their hips and wearing nothing else but a beige coloured binder. They turn around to face him, eyes lighting up when they do. 

“Is that mine?” Hendery asks, even though he knows it is. It’s the binder that got him through his final years of high school and undergrad up until he got top surgery just over six months ago. 

Mark nods, “Do you mind? I just wanted to— try it out, I guess.” 

“Not at all,” Hendery replies reassuringly, “How does it feel?”

Mark turns back to the mirror, letting out a breath of relief. Hendery knows the feeling. 

“It feels great,” they say, “Well, it’s a little loose on me but— holy shit, you know?” 

Hendery smiles softly, moving closer to Mark. Their eyes meet through the mirror, and Mark speaks up,

“How do I look?”

“Great,” Hendery says, fingers running ever so slightly over the binder, “But this binder is a little worn out, I can buy you a new one if you want,” 

Mark turns around and they’re barely inches away from Hendery, eyes shining as they say, “You don’t need to do that,” 

“I want to,” 

Mark’s grin is blinding, it ecompasses their entire face, eyes shining with gratitude. Hendery will buy them the moon if it would elicit another smile like this. Once again, they are close enough that Hendery could lean in and kiss them. His hands shake as he pulls back from Mark. 

Mark doesn’t notice anything off, moving to grab their shirt off the bed and pulling it on. 

“You know, when we first met I was a STEM kid _and_ I thought I was cis,” Mark muses as they smooth their shirt down, “You’ve ruined my life Hendery Wong,” 

Hendery lets out a chortle, “As much as I would love to take credit for The Great Liberation Of Mark Lee, you did that all yourself,” 

Mark runs a hand over their now, completely flat, chest. A tiny smile playing at their lips, something that speaks of fondness and excitement. 

“I suppose I did,” they say quietly. 

Hendery can’t quite help himself, he reaches over and places his hand at the nape of their neck. Stroking the skin there slightly, Mark leans into it. 

“You hungry?” he asks, “I can make us dinner,” 

Mark whips their head up and gives Hendery a disbelieving stare, one that Hendery does _not_ appreciate.

“No you can’t,” they say sternly, “ _I’ll_ make dinner,” 

“Come on,” Hendery whines, “You’ve made dinner all week, let me do something,” 

“No way, I don’t trust you in my kitchen,” Mark says, as if Hendery doesn’t pay rent for this place too, “I have a system and I’m not letting _you_ mess things up,” 

Hendery crosses his arms, he has half a mind to stubbornly stomp his foot right now, like a petulant child. It’s not even that he’s a disaster in the kitchen, Hendery has an impressive set of recipes under his sleeve, ones he learnt from his mother. It’s just that Mark is an absolute perfectionist in the kitchen–– to the point where it’s freaky. Every piece of equipment has its own designated spot and purpose. 

Mark crosses their arms too, jutting their chin out like they’re daring Hendery to defy them. 

“Fine, you can cook,” Hendery relents, too tired to put up a fight. He’s not sure he can handle Mark watching him like a hawk while he cooks and then yelling at him for using the wrong pan. 

Mark smiles gleefully, “Awesome!” they say, leading the way out of Hendery’s room and into the kitchen.

“We really need to talk about your control issues in the kitchen,” Hendery calls out after them, “Like seriously! It’s concerning!” 

All Mark responds with is a loud bout of laughter.

Dejun Xiao, a fellow creative writing student and good friend of Hendery and Mark, has cordially invited them to his housewarming party. He recently moved into a flat with his boyfriend, Jaemin, who is also a friend of theirs and wants to celebrate with their friend group. Hendery, for one, didn’t know that the pair were even dating in the first place, but he’s generally out of the loop on things like this. 

“How are you this oblivious?” Mark asks him. And Hendery has to laugh because there’s no way _Mark Lee_ who lives with a roommate that is so transparently in love with them is calling _Hendery_ oblivious, “You’ve hung out with both of them so many times, did you not notice all the heart eyes and hand holding?” 

Hendery shrugs, “I thought they were just really good friends,” now that he thinks about it, he has seen them kissed once. But it was just a slight peck on the lips, it could’ve been friendly. “They never even officially announced they were dating,” 

Mark pauses mid-way from applying eye-shadow to give him a look of judgement, “You’re an idiot,” 

Hendery pouts, only because he knows Mark hates it when he does. They scoff and turn back to the mirror to continue applying their makeup. Hendery’s lounging on their bed, legs stretched out like a cat while he waits for Mark to finish getting ready. 

“I can’t believe they moved in together,” Hendery says, “That’s so official, when did all our friends become grown ups?”

Mark chuckles, picking up their eyeliner pencil and lining their waterline. Hendery can only watch in awe at how they don’t even flinch at something so sharp close to their eye, “I know right. I’m happy for them but also _so jealous._ That should be _me_ moving into an apartment with the love of my life. Being single _fucks._ ”

Hendery gives them an amused look, “I’m assuming your coffee date didn’t go well,” 

Mark sighs, “We had _nothing_ in common. He saw the non-binary pin on my jacket and honest-to-god asked me what country that was from.” 

Hendery laughs loudly, “Oh my _god,_ ” 

Mark laughs too, “It was such a surreal moment, he was totally chill when I explained that I’m non-binary but yeah nah, I don’t see anymore dates in our future,” 

“Bummer,” Hendery says. 

They hum, finishing off their makeup by drawing fake freckles onto their cheeks with an eyebrow pencil, blending it in gently with their finger.

“I’m so tired of dating,” they say, “I’m no good at it anyway,” 

“Maybe you should just be single for a while,” Hendery suggests. “It’s not as bad as you think,” 

Mark snorts, turning to face Hendery. Their cheekbones shine with highlighter, brown eyes defined with black, freckles drawn across their face like a constellation of stars. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. 

“Easy for you to say, you haven’t been in a relationship in decades.” 

Hendery frowns, “That’s not true, remember Ten?” 

Mark lifts an eyebrow, a perfectly drawn eyebrow, with golden highlighter strewn across the ridge.

“Hendery, bringing someone home from your slam poetry nights and treating them to brunch the next day is _not_ a relationship.” 

Okay, so _maybe_ Hendery hasn’t had a relationship in decades. He has one night stands whenever he feels a little lonely and sometimes he goes on the odd blind date set up by Yukhei. But it’s only because he doesn’t _want_ to date anyone that isn’t Mark. (He’s still friends with Ten though, he gives Hendery feedback on his poems). 

“There hasn’t really been anyone that I’ve wanted to date,” Hendery says, it’s a half-truth. The only person he wants to date is somehow both right within his grasp and completely unattainable. If there is a god, she’s a cruel creature. 

“Really?” Mark asks, “You haven’t even had a crush on anyone?” 

Mark is so stupidly endearing, Hendery thinks, the way they still say crush like they’re in high school and the two of them are talking about the captain of the hockey team. Hendery _does_ have a crush. A stupid hopeless crush. Ugh. 

“I guess I’m just destined to be alone forever,” Hendery says, he means it as a joke, but the corners of Mark’s lips pull downwards. 

“You won’t be alone forever,” Mark says, “You’ll always have me,” 

Hendery smiles, and his stupid hopeless crush smiles back, “Yeah, I guess I will,” 

He sits up from the bed, planting his feet on the floor. Needing something to ground him, he can not handle Mark looking at him like _that._

“Are you done getting ready?” he asks, “We’re already late as it is,” 

Mark nods, standing up from their desk chair, “Oh! I have a surprise for you,” They open up the top drawer of their dresser and pull something out.

“Look, I finished the beret!” they say proudly, pulling it over their hair. 

Calling it a beret is putting it nicely, if anything, it’s a lump of messily sewn red fabric. 

“Mark, you are not wearing that out of the house,” 

“Why not?”

“It––” is hideous, frightful, ugly, they’re going to get clowned to hell and back by their merciless friend group, “looks like a parrot curled up and died on your head,” 

Mark gasps loudly, “Fuck you Henderson. I will wear this beret and I will wear it with pride,” 

“It’s your fashion funeral,” Hendery says nonchalantly, picking up his keys and straightening out his clothes. They got slightly wrinkled from laying on Mark’s bed. “Ready to go?” 

“Yup,” Mark says, “Let me just get the brownies from oven,” 

Hendery groans, throwing himself back onto the bed, that was going to take at least another fifteen minutes. 

They take the bus to Dejun’s place even though Hendery can drive–– he just chooses not to. The walk from the bus stop to the apartment is quiet, Mark is carrying a container filled with brownies that takes up both their hands. They kick a rock at Hendery while they walk, starting an impromptu game of sidewalk football. 

When they reach the apartment building, Mark suddenly halts. They turn back to Hendery, the container clutched to their chest and eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. 

“That’s Jeno’s car,” they say, nodding their head to a red car parked on the sidewalk, “I didn’t know he was coming.”

“Well, he is Jaemin’s best friend,” Hendery offers. 

Mark gives him a look. 

“You’ll be fine,” Hendery says, gentler this time, “If you don’t want to talk to him, you can stick with me the entire night,”

“I do that anyway.” 

Hendery laughs, Mark cracks a smile. He thinks they’re okay but they still don’t move from their spot. 

“It’s just awkward, you know? I’m pretty sure he hates me,”

“Jeno doesn’t hate you,” Hendery says. 

“You don’t know that,” Mark shoots back. 

“I do,” Hendery says, “Because it’s literally impossible to hate you,” 

Hendery internally winces as soon as the words leave his mouth. He sounds a little too real there— a little too in love. _Whipped_ , Yukhei would call him _._ It catches in the way Mark’s eyes widen once more, for an entirely different reason this time. 

They let out a long exhale. 

“Okay,” they say, “I can do this, thanks for the pep-talk,” 

“No worries,”

They turn around and walk a few more steps, after a beat, they stop and turn back to face Hendery.

“Oh my god,” Mark whisper-shouts, mortified, “I’m wearing his shirt on my head,” 

Hendery snorts and snatches the beret off Mark’s head, “I told you not to wear that thing,” 

“Shut up,” Mark grumbles, elbowing him. 

Hendery tucks the beret deep into his tote bag where it can never be found again.

Jaemin welcomes them at the door. His hair is a freshly dyed blonde and he’s smiling with all his teeth.

“Hendery, Mark!” he greets, opening the door wider to let them in, “Welcome to our home,” 

“Hey Jaemin,” Hendery says, toeing his shoes off at the door. 

“I made brownies!” Mark exclaims excitedly, handing the container to Jaemin. They lean into his space before the boy could answer them and says, “They have weed in them,” 

Jaemin lets out a startled laugh, “Seriously?” 

“Seriously,” Hendery says, “Apparently their classmate gave them a _great_ recipe for edibles and now the whole apartment smells like weed,” 

“Your culinary arts degree is the best thing that’s happened to this friend group,” Jaemin says, and Mark grins bashfully, “I’ll be sure to hand these out later,” 

He winks at them, leading them out of the entrance to the living room. 

“Make yourself at home, there are drinks and a charcuterie board in the kitchen, so help yourself.” 

Mark’s eyes light up at the words _charcuterie board_ , they follow Jaemin to the kitchen, likely to go fawn at it–– leaving Hendery to fend for himself in the living room. 

The apartment is well-furnished, the furniture is all made from dark wood and paintings hang from the wall–– Jaemin’s paintings, Hendery assumes.

Jeno, Donghyuck and Yangyang are sitting at the dining table, engaged in what seems like an intense game of Uno. The rest are sitting on the couches, deep in discussion. 

Dejun looks up and catches Hendery’s eye. 

“Hendery’s here!” he calls brightly, beckoning Hendery over, “Thank god, we need someone to settle this argument,” 

Hendery walks over to the group, Dejun and Renjun are sitting on the big couch, a glass of wine in each of their hands–– which explains the flush in Dejun’s cheeks. Yukhei is sitting on the single couch, Hendery greets her with a hug before taking a seat on the arm.

“What argument?” 

Yukhei groans, “Please don’t get them started again,”

Dejun just ignores her and says, “You’ve read _The Iliad,_ right?” Hendery nods, “Hector vs. Achilles, who was the better hero?” 

“Hector, duh,” Hendery says. 

Dejun splutters, Renjun cheers and says, “I knew I could trust you!” they reach over to high-five Hendery. 

“You can’t seriously think it’s Achilles,” Hendery says, lifting an eyebrow at Dejun. 

“Yes, I can!” Dejun defends, “Achilles was born to be a champion, he embodies everything that a Greek hero is supposed to be,” 

“He’s an _asshole,_ ” Hendery replies, “Hector was more sympathetic and he actually cared about his people, Achilles spent half the book throwing a bitch fit,” 

“Hear, hear,” Renjun says, taking a sip of their wine.

“Yeah, he’s an asshole but he’s also the archetype for a Greek hero. He’s not the inferior hero just because you don’t like him,” 

“Hector had way more humanity,” Renjun argues, “he put others first while Achilles was mostly self-driven,”

“Hector is a good hero when we look at him in a modern context,” Dejun says with an air of pretentiousness. Between the glasses and the champagne flute he was waving around as he spoke, he was really selling the image. “But in the context of Ancient Greece, he’s the better hero because they were _supposed_ to be headstrong and self-driven,” 

“Babe, you’re boring poor Yukhei _again,_ ” Jaemin says, walking back in from the kitchen with Mark in tow. “Honestly, you three are so annoying. We can’t have a single get-together without an argument breaking out over some book that no one else has read,” 

“I’ve read _The Song of Achilles,_ ” Mark chimes in, and Hendery wants to pinch their cheeks because _A._ they’re adorable, _B._ they’re bringing up a book that Hendery recommended to them!

“I thought it was very beautiful,” 

There’s a general hum of agreement from Renjun, Dejun and Hendery–– just like that, the argument is dropped. 

Jaemin takes a seat at the dining table, “Mark, do you want to play Lemon with us?” he asks, shuffling a deck of playing cards in his hands. 

“Isn’t that a four-player game?” they reply. 

“It’s fine,” Yangyang says, “We can kick Donghyuck out, he’s a sore loser anyway,” 

“That’s rude,” Donghyuck replies, scowling at her. 

“It’s true,” Yangyang retorts, “You’re not even good at games, you just talk yourself up and then it’s embarrassing for everyone when you lose,” 

“You suck Yangyang,” Donghyuck says, throwing his Uno cards on the table and standing up, “I’m going to go steal your girlfriend,” 

Yangyang laughs, “Yukhei doesn’t want you!” she calls as Donghyuck marches away.

Surely enough, all it takes is for Donghyuck to flash Yukhei the puppy-dog eyes and whine _“Yangyang is being mean to me!”_ for Yukhei to melt and let Donghyuck sit with her on the single couch. 

“Mark, you playing?” Jaemin asks again. 

Mark sends Hendery a nervous glance, it’s quick, but Hendery picks up on it anyway. 

“Uh, sure,” they say, taking Donghyuck’s seat, which is unfortunately across from Jeno. 

Hendery stands up, “I wanna watch,” he says casually, walking over to the table and sitting in between Mark and Yangyang. 

Mark flashes him a grateful look. Under the table, they grab Hendery’s hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing ever-so-slightly. It sends a jolt of electricity up his spine.

“Hey Hendery,” Yangyang says, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek, “How’s it hanging?”

_Still in love with my best friend, what about you?_

“Nothing much, glad to be here instead of down there,” he nods towards Dejun and Renjun, who have refilled their glasses of wine. It seems the drunker they get, the more heated their argument gets, “They’re _still_ arguing,” 

Yangyang giggles, “Tell me about it, I think Yukhei is cheating on me with Donghyuck,” she says jokingly, gesturing to where Yukhei and Donghyuck are now holding hands, Donghyuck’s chin is hooked over Yukhei’s shoulder while they both make fun of Renjun and Dejun. 

“It’s okay,” Hendery says, patting her shoulder with his free hand, “You can always cheat on Yukhei with me,” 

This makes Mark whip their head around to look at Hendery, their expression is unreadable. 

“You’re gay, Hendery,” they chide bluntly. 

Hendery shrugs, “Minor details,” 

They play four games of Lemon and Jeno wins every single one, which annoys most of them but especially Mark. It’s especially embarrassing because Hendery helped Mark cheat at every game and they still lost. Jeno laughs good-naturedly after every win, suggesting they should play for money. To which Jaemin replies with, 

“None of us have any money, we all have art degrees,” which isn’t wrong but he didn’t have to say it. 

After dinner— made by Jaemin who used Mark’s lasagna recipe— Jaemin passes out the brownies and Hendery takes one. It wouldn’t hurt to unwind a little. 

They’re all sitting in the living room, soft music plays from the speakers, occasionally interrupted by Spotify advertisements. Dejun and Jaemin open their house warming gifts, which in hindsight is a really bad idea because Dejun is wine-drunk and Jaemin is high. They almost drop the clay tea set that Renjun made for them. Earning a scowl from an equally wine drunk Renjun. 

Hendery stretches across the floor, his head resting in Mark’s lap. He feels light, sleepy, more relaxed than he’s been in a long time. He feels a kind of inner peace, he loves hanging out with his friends like this. Quiet conversations, giggling as Donghyuck tries to lodge himself between Yukhei and Yangyang–– at some point they pause the music so Jeno can start playing Dejun’s guitar. 

Mark runs a hand through Hendery’s hair, he closes his eyes and leans into it, murmuring, “That feels nice,” 

They giggle, massaging his scalp lightly. Mark didn’t drink anything or eat the brownies, they’re the soberest one in the room, along with Jeno who didn’t have anything because he drove here. 

“Jeno plays well,” Hendery says as Donghyuck starts singing along to whatever Jeno is playing. He can’t recognise the song but it sounds pretty, he makes a mental note to ask them for the name later. 

“I know right,” Mark says, “It’s annoying,” 

Hendery’s stomach rumbles even though he _just_ had dinner. Jaemin hears it and laughs. 

“There’s snacks in the kitchen,”

Hendery hums, cheek pressed against Mark’s clothed thigh, “Mm, I’m too comfy, don’t wanna get up,” 

Mark flicks his forehead, “Get up you big baby, I want snacks too,” 

He huffs in response, clumsily standing up. His legs feel like jelly and the entire room looks like it’s on an angle. 

“Oh,” he mumbles, realising that it’s because he had his head tilted. He straightens up. 

Mark links their hands together, most likely because Hendery can not walk to the kitchen on his own. Maybe he should get high more often if it means Mark will hold his hand. 

The kitchen counter is laid with the half-eaten charcuterie board, a bowl of candy and a bag of chips. Hendery goes straight for the bag of chips, ripping it open and shoving a handful into his mouth. Mark wrinkles their nose with distaste and picks a cherry tomato off the board. Donghyuck’s singing trails faintly into the kitchen. 

“Are you having fun?” Hendery asks.

Mark nods, “I mean, I haven’t been alone with Jeno, thanks to you. And he seems hell-bent on pretending that nothing ever happened between us. Which I’m fine with,” 

“Are you really?” Hendery asks, unconvinced.

They shrug, “It’s whatever, I suppose we do need to talk out our shit at some point but I’m not ready yet.”

“Take your time,” Hendery says. Everything still feels foggy, like the night Mark told Hendery that Jeno broke up with them. What a shame, Hendery thinks, imagine being lucky enough to date Mark just to break up with them. Hendery would never break up with them. 

“What?” Mark says, dropping their cherry tomato to the floor. It rolls until it hits Hendery’s foot. 

“What what?” Hendery asks, confused. 

Mark stares at Hendery with an unreadable expression. 

“You just said you would never break up with me,”

“Oh,” Hendery says, and everything suddenly feels too warm, “Did I?” 

Mark nods, they take a step closer to Hendery and he feels like he’s suffocating. 

Fuck. Stoned Hendery is an idiot. A big dumb stupid idiot. At least he has enough self-awareness to recognise that. 

“I didn’t uh––” he cuts himself off as Mark takes another step forward. 

Hendery takes a step back because he misses the feeling of having oxygen in his lungs, his back hits the edge of the counter. 

“You didn't what?” Mark asks–– it sounds like a taunt. Hendery’s never seen them like this, “You didn’t mean it?”

They take another step forward, Hendery considers jumping the counter. 

But then, Mark brings a hand up to cup Hendery’s jaw, and he doesn’t dare move. Their thumb runs over Hendery’s bottom lip, the slightest of touches, barely there but tender nonetheless. 

“Do you want to know a secret?” they ask quietly. 

Hendery isn’t sure if he wants to know. He spoke truthfully earlier because he’s intoxicated and free of any inhibitions. Mark, on the other hand, is stone-cold sober. Making this even more terrifying. 

Despite every nerve in his body warning him against it, he nods. 

“Most of my fights with Jeno were about you,” 

The words ring loudly in his ears like church bells. He wasn’t expecting _that._

“What about me?” 

Their hand traces the line of Hendery’s jaw, it sends a shiver up his spine. 

“He thinks we’re weirdly close,” they say, “In a toeing the line between friendship and romance kind of way,” 

“Do you agree with him?” 

Mark says nothing, their expression is still unreadable. They’re looking at Hendery with those stupid brown eyes, darkened like bitter coffee. 

“Let’s talk about this when you’re sober,” they say, dropping their hand completely. 

Mark reaches behind him and grabs a handful of cherry tomatoes before walking out. Leaving him alone in the empty kitchen. 

Hendery, for one, has no idea what the fuck just happened. 

They don’t talk about it. 

Hendery manages to somewhat sober up before they have to leave Dejun’s flat. They ride the bus sharing earphones and Hendery crashes as soon as they get home. 

The next morning, he wakes up to the smell of waffles, Mark is wearing an apron reading “ _Gordon Ramsay Is My Bitch”,_ they greet him with a smile and they don’t talk about it. 

Hendery _hates_ confrontation, he avoids it at all costs and he knows Mark does too. Which makes communication particularly hard when it comes to tough situations. There’s no telling who will bring it up first, Hendery thinks both of them will keep avoiding it until someone snaps— a battle of the most emotionally repressed. What a pair they make. 

As a proud holder of a Bachelor’s degree in All Things Mark Lee, Hendery knows exactly how they handle tough situations. 

Stage one: They avoid Hendery at all costs. Text messages go unanswered, the living room feels colder as Mark chooses to reside in their room. It feels like living with a ghost, the smell of something cooking lingers but the kitchen remains unoccupied, there’s dirty dishes in the sink but no sign of anyone eating. All Hendery gets is a shut room door with muffled music playing from the other side. 

Six months after moving in together, Hendery and Mark had their first real fight and Mark managed to avoid him for a solid three and a half weeks. In fact, they managed to avoid him up until––

Stage two: Acting passive-aggressive. If Hendery has a degree in Mark, then Mark has a degree in being passive-aggressive to the point where it’s sometimes petty. After Mark decided they were done with avoiding Hendery during the Epic Roommate Fight of Spring 2019, they made peanut butter cupcakes–– Hendery is allergic to peanuts, not deathly allergic but his reaction is still pretty bad–– with “YOU SUCK, APOLOGISE” written on them with icing. Okay, maybe that was just aggressive-aggressive. But the point is, Mark can be petty when they want to be.

Which brings him to Stage Three: Actually talking about it. It’s a coin toss on who breaks first. Sometimes it’s Hendery because he’s not trying to die via cupcake, or by Mark because they’re tired of Hendery ignoring their passive-aggressive desserts. Most of the time it’s because of the latter. _“I worked hard on those cupcakes!”_ Mark had said during their first fight, _“Do you know how much peanut butter I had to buy?”_ which led to them both apologising and crying because nothing feels worse than fighting with your best friend.

Thus, Hendery prepares himself for all the stages to follow their Weird Moment in Dejun’s Kitchen. Only, Mark doesn’t do any of that. They just pretend everything is normal. They make Hendery cupcakes that won’t kill him, hang out with him in the living room, they watch their shows together on Netflix. Everything is so eerily normal that Hendery wonders if he hallucinated the entire thing–– he wouldn't put it past Mark to accidentally make brownies out of laced weed, their dealer is another culinary art student, and those kids are _freaky._

“Maybe it’s because you two didn’t fight this time,” Ten suggests, handing Hendery a cup of piping hot tea, he brings it close to his face and inhales, _peppermint,_ calming. “You just had a weird-slash-romantic moment,” 

“Pretending it didn’t happen is somehow worse,” Hendery says, “It makes me feel so silly for being hung up over it when Mark doesn’t seem affected at all,” 

Ten gives him a sympathetic look, “I’m sure they are, you _have_ said before that they internalize shit like it’s their job,”

Hendery sighs, dropping his head and pressing his forehead to the cool wood of the dining table. 

“This being in love shit is hard,”

Ten pats their shoulder, “There, there. I’m sure you and Mark will figure it out, I’ve never seen a bond stronger than the one you have,” 

Hendery looks up, chin resting on his hands, “Really?” 

Ten nods, “Seriously, it’s as clear as day. The two of you are something special,” 

“Thanks for saying that,” Hendery says, “I feel slightly better, I’m still not going to talk to them about it though,” 

Ten shrugs, “Let them bring it up, they started it,” he says with an undertone of bitterness. 

Ten well and truly gets him. 

“I got us off-topic, _again,_ ” Hendery says, sitting up, “Let’s continue,” 

Initially, Ten invited him over because Hendery asked for help editing his new slam poem. He has another open mic this Friday and is trying to perfect his piece. Ten has always been very good at feedback, he never sugarcoats anything, which is something Hendery admires. 

Ten slides over the sheet of paper with Hendery’s poem printed on it, there are scribbles written in the margins with a red pen. He glosses over them. 

“This is great,” Ten says, “More sombre than your usual work,” 

“I’ve been in a sombre mood lately,” Hendery says with a shrug, he looks up at Ten, “Do you have any writing that I can look at?” 

“No,” Ten says miserably, “Writer’s block is a bitch,” 

Hendery raises an eyebrow, “I thought you said you didn’t believe in writer’s block,” 

“Shut up,” Ten says, “That only applies when I’m trying to force _you_ out of a writing slump, not the other way around,” 

Hendery hits his head with the sheet of paper, “Hypocrite,” 

“I think I’m not writing because I’m not getting laid,” Ten complains. 

“What kind of connection is that?” Hendery asks, “If anything I’m writing _more_ because I’m not getting laid,” _by Mark._ The final words are left unsaid but he’s sure Ten knows what he’s talking about. It seems that getting trapped in the deep, hopeless pit of unrequited love makes for good inspiration.

“So what I’m hearing is, you desperately need to get laid and so do I,” Ten replies, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Hendery hits him a second time. 

“Don’t even think about it, once was enough to scar me for life,” Hendery replies, giving an over-exaggerated shudder. 

Ten pouts, “Liar,” is all he says. 

“You shouldn’t even be propositioning me when you have a boyfriend,” 

“Sicheng is _not_ my boyfriend,” 

Hendery smirks, “I didn’t mention a name,” 

Ten’s pout deepens into a full blown scowl, “Get out of my house,” 

Hendery gets home late that night. He and Ten got awfully carried away between gossiping, reading each other’s writing and refilling their cups of tea. He enters the apartment buzzing with happiness, Ten always knows how to cheer him up. He makes a note to see him more often. 

The apartment is quiet when Hendery enters. The lounge is mostly dark, save for the orange glow of a few lamps and lit candles sprinkled around the room. He finds Mark sitting on the couch, reading a book. 

Hendery turns the main lights on and the room flickers alive. 

“What did I say about reading in the dark?” he asks, “You’ll ruin your eyesight,”

“Not much left to ruin,” Mark mutters, they give Hendery a once-over, “You’re home later than usual,” 

“I was at Ten’s,” he replies, plopping down next to Mark. They instinctively make space on their lap for Hendery to rest his head in–– he tries not to overthink it as he sinks his body into theirs like a stone in a pond. 

“It’s one in the morning and you’re telling me you just got back from Ten’s?” their voice comes out slightly strangled. 

“Yeah?”

From where he’s laying, he can see Mark’s eyebrows pull down, but rather than saying anything, they hum in acknowledgement. 

“What did you get up to?” Hendery asks. 

“Nothing exciting,” they reply, “Not as exciting as hooking up with Ten, at least,” 

Ah, there it is–– stage two: passive aggression. 

“You don’t know that I was hooking up with him,” 

Mark looks down at him, question marks written across their gaze. 

“Were you?” 

Hendery realises it’s harder to argue from this angle, he doesn’t have an advantage when he’s sprawled across Mark like a cat, so he sits up. 

“What if I was?” he says, going for the acting coy approach. Ten would be proud of him, “Why does it matter to you?” 

“It doesn’t,” Mark’s reply comes out too quickly, too defensively. They clear their throat, “I mean–– it does but only because you’re my best friend and––” 

Hendery scoffs, it sounds more bitter than intended. 

_“Best friend,”_ he repeats, “Thanks for the concern, _bestie_ , but I’m good,” 

Mark looks even more conflicted now, eyebrows scrunched up.

“Hendery––”

“I’m tired,” Hendery says standing up, “I’m going to bed, goodnight,” 

They look like they want to say more, lips parted like they're mid-way through talking, but they shut their mouth and open their book once more.

“Goodnight Hendery,” Mark replies coldly. 

Hendery is struggling to fall asleep, his mind is too loud. He’s wide awake and replaying his conversation with Mark over and over like it’s a broken record. Which is how he knows it’s at close to three in the morning when the door to his room creaks open. He hears Mark walk in, footsteps as light as a feather. The bed creaks as they sit on it, lifting up the blanket and getting in next to Hendery. 

He doesn’t dare move. Mark’s breathing is heavy, he can feel their gaze burning through the back of his skull. 

“I’m sorry for being so weird,” Mark whispers into the darkness. 

Hendery stills, Mark can probably tell he’s awake. They’re just _that_ attuned to him. 

He sighs, the sheets rustle as he shifts to face Mark. He can just make out the shape of their face in the darkness. That and their eyes. 

“I didn’t hook up with Ten,” he admits, “We were just writing together,” 

“Then why did you say you did?”

“I don’t know why I say half the shit I say to you,” 

Mark swallows thickly, they’re looking everywhere but Hendery’s eyes. The mole on his face, the hair swept across his forehead, his lips. 

“I’m afraid of what that means,” 

“Me too,” 

And they leave it like that for the night. Mark falls asleep on Hendery’s shoulder, their arms wrapped around his torso. Hendery falls asleep to the sound of Mark breathing. 

When Hendery awakens, Mark is nowhere to be found. There’s an ache of disappointment in his chest, a feeling he isn’t comfortable in getting familiar with. 

When he opens the door to his room, he can hear sounds coming from the kitchen and some of the disappointment fades. At least they aren’t running away. 

Mark’s standing at the stove, the aroma of pancakes fill the air. They’re already dressed for the day, an apron thrown over a pair of white jeans and a cropped shirt–– one they clearly cropped themselves based on how the hem line is uneven. 

“Hey,” Hendery says, voice raspy from disuse. He walks over to the stove, picking up a pancake from the plate and taking a bite. “Are you going out today?” 

“Hm, no,” Mark replies, “I just felt like dressing up, you know, get an early start,” 

They seem a lot more timid than usual, a nervous energy radiates off them and fizzes into the air. 

Hendery sighs loudly, capturing their curiosity. Now or never. He drops the pancake back on the plate and turns off the stove–– just in case. 

“So,” he begins, and his voice fucking cracks, which is _so great._

Mark tries to suppress the giggle behind their hand, which only has Hendery rolling his eyes and trying to hide his own smile. 

“Mark,” he warns. 

“Right,” Mark replies, sobering up, “I can be serious,” 

He sighs again, god why is it so hard to come up with words to say? He’s a writer, in theory, this should come naturally to him.

“I’m sorry for making things so fucking weird,” Hendery starts, words coming out before his brain could filter them, “We can just pretend I never said anything and go back to the way things were before Dejun’s party,” 

“I don’t want to,” Mark says. 

Hendery blinks, “What?”

Mark takes a step closer, successfully backing Hendery into the counter. He’s getting a sick sense of deja vu, except this time, he’s just as sober as Mark is. 

“I don’t want to go back to normal,” Mark says, their hands move to rest on either side of the counter, trapping him in. From this close, Hendery can see the way their gaze drops, the way they swallow slowly, signs that they are just as nervous as Hendery feels. 

“I want you,” 

The words hit him so quickly he barely registers it, falling to the pit of his stomach like an anchor. 

“Mark––” 

“You’re my best friend,” they continue, “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” 

“You’re my best friend too,” Hendery replies, swallowing down a lump in his throat. He has no idea where this is going. Mark is sending a lot of mixed signals right now. 

“But I still want you,” Mark says, “I want you so much, you have no idea,” 

Oh. 

He reads those signals loud and clear.

“Then have me,” Hendery says back, desperate, “I’m yours, Mark.” 

Mark’s eyes widen like this is news to them, it really shouldn’t be. They bring their hand up to touch Hendery’s face, fingers travelling over the skin there. He feels breathless. 

“I don’t think you want that,” they say quietly, like they’re saying it to themself more than to Hendery.

He furrows his eyebrows, now he’s _really_ confused. 

“What are you talking about? Of course I do,” 

“You don’t,” Mark says–– insists, “I’ll just ruin you, like I do everyone else and–– our friendship will be destroyed––” they cut themselves off, “Remember what I said that night Jeno dumped me? I wasn’t kidding, I’m truly unlovable,” 

_“Mark,”_ Hendery says, he cups their face with both his hands. He _gets_ it now, why Mark has been holding back. Not because they don’t like Hendery, but because they’re afraid of hurting him, “How many times do I have to tell you that you _are_ lovable. Loving you comes as easily to me as breathing,” 

Their cheeks dust with a curious pink, “If we–– I’m not–– I mean,” they groan in frustration, dropping their head onto Hendery’s shoulder. 

“I’m _trying_ to tell you how I feel,” 

Hendery laughs softly–– he’s unbelievably endeared right now. He runs a hand through Mark’s hair. 

“I think I understand,” he says. 

Mark pulls back, meeting his eyes. 

“Really?” 

His thumb grazes Mark’s cheek, “How about this,” he offers, smiling softly, “I’ll tell you how I feel and you tell me if you feel the same way?” 

“Okay,” Mark says breathlessly. 

Hendery inhales deeply, now or never. 

“I’m in love with you, Mark,” he says, “I always have been, I can’t ever remember not being in love with you,” 

He sees the way Mark’s eyes widen, hears the way their breath hitches. 

“I’m––” their hand is at the nape of his neck, “I’m in love with you too, I’ve always known how I felt about you but–– I didn’t have a word for it until just now,” 

And Hendery can not believe this is real. That he is living in a timeline where Mark loves him. That he’s living in a timeline where Mark is leaning in closer, where their breath is ghosting over his lips. So close he can almost taste them. Their touch is tentative, like they are waiting for Hendery to make the first move. _This_ close to Mark, Hendery thinks he understands Icarus. He’s flying as high as he can, and it’s exhilarating–– Mark is right there within his touch, and they’re beautiful, made of gold, light coursing through their veins. How could Hendery not want to fly close? Why would he deny himself of it?

So he leans in and kisses Mark.

He kisses Mark like his life depends on it and Mark kisses back with a paralleled fervour. Their hand is in Hendery’s hair, they tilt their head to deepen the kiss and Hendery feels like his heart is hitting the ground. 

They pull back, just enough to catch their breaths, foreheads touching. 

There’s a blinding smile on Mark’s face. Hendery’s done it, he’s flown too close to the sun–– and he didn’t get burnt. 

“Holy fuck,” they breathe out, “I’ve never kissed like that before,” 

Hendery wants to reply with _fucking same._ But instead, he pulls Mark in for a second kiss, just as searing as the first. 

“So, what should I call you?” Hendery asks them later. 

They’re lounging on the couch, it’s mid-afternoon and the heavy rain is keeping them indoors. Droplets hit the windows and everything glows blue. Mark hates the rain, Hendery loves it. 

They decide to have a lazy day in, Taylor Swift’s reputation concert plays on Netflix, Hendery can barely pay attention from the way Mark is tracing patterns on his skin with their fingers. 

They look away from the TV to give him a funny look, “Mark,” 

Hendery rolls his eyes, “I know _that,_ idiot,” 

Mark giggles, throwing their legs over Hendery’s lap. 

“I mean, what relationship label do you prefer?” he continues, “Should I call you my boyfriend, my partner, my _lover?”_ he finishes off, wiggling his eyebrows.

Mark’s cheeks turn a gorgeous pink, “Boyfriend is fine,” they say, climbing fully into Hendery’s lap and wrapping their arms around his neck, “I also prefer _king of your heart, body and soul,”_

Hendery scoffs, hands running up their thighs, “I am not indulging your swiftie side,” 

Mark sighs dramatically, “I guess you can’t be the perfect boyfriend,” 

Hendery pouts, offended. Before he can counter with a defence, Mark leans in to kiss him. He kisses back willingly–– Mark Lee has an unfair advantage. 

Mark is late to his slam poetry night _again_ . They walk into the pub halfway through Hendery’s performance, sending him an apologetic look. Hendery smiles reassuringly, finishing off his poem with grace. He’s kind of glad Mark missed most of this one–– now that Mark _knows_ Hendery writes about them, having them listen to him perform is embarrassing. 

“Hey,” Mark greets when Hendery steps off stage, they look slightly dishevelled, their hair is sticking up like they ran their hands through it and they’re slightly out of breath, “Sorry I’m late,” 

“No worries,” Hendery says, linking their hands together, “You didn’t need to hear all that anyway,” 

Mark giggles, “You can perform your poem for me later, _in private,_ ” 

Hendery shoves them, looking away so they can’t see the way his face warms up. 

They leave the pub hand in hand. The cool night air hits Hendery’s face, it’s refreshing from how stuffy the pub was. 

“Where were you?” he asks. 

“Oh,” Mark says, they fumble with their phone to show Hendery something on the screen, “I was getting us reservations for _Orbit 360_ , it’s super hard to get them last minute but Yukhei knows someone who works there and I bribed her with edibles,” 

Hendery’s eyes widen, _Orbit 360_ is a restaurant at the very top of the Sky Tower, it’s crazy expensive–– only rich people eat there. 

“Mark, we can’t afford that,” 

Mark shrugs, “I’ll pay. I wanted to take you somewhere special,” 

He smiles, cupping their jaw with his hand, “We could eat at the cheap kebab joint down the street and it’ll be special,” 

Mark leans into his touch, turning their head slightly to press a kiss to Hendery’s palm.

“I know,” they say, “Just let me do this for you, okay? We can wear fancy clothes and order expensive tiny food and make fun of rich people,” 

Hendery laughs. He’s starting to understand Mark more and more now, especially the way they love. He never realised that Mark loved him before because it was in a language he didn’t understand. But now he gets it–– they cook food for him, they read the books that Hendery recommends, they hold Hendery’s hand and sit in his lap, they insist that he’s the best thing this city has to offer. Where Hendery prefers to use words–– poems, stories, grand confession speeches like he’s the love interest in an Austen novel–– Mark prefers actions. They complete each other that way. 

“That does sound like fun,” he says, “Okay then, let’s go eat,” 

They walk to the bus stop with their hands intertwined. The streets are busy but neither of them mind, it only gives Hendery an excuse to lean closer into Mark’s space.

Ahead of them, the Sky Tower glows purple.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know ur thoughts!!! for the record donghyuck definitely ends up dating both yangyang and yukhei <3
> 
> you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/heejinsbian)!
> 
> have a wonderful day mwah


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